Mrs. Premise and Mrs. Conclusion Visit Jean-Paul Sartre

The cast:

The sketch:

(ANIMATION; ends with an animated woman going into a
Laundromat. Cut to the interior of a Laundromat. Various shabby folk
sitting around. Mrs. Conclusion approaches Mrs. Premise and sits
down.)

Mrs. Conclusion: Hello, Mrs. Premise.

Mrs. Premise: Hello, Mrs. Conclusion.

Mrs. Conclusion: Busy day?

Mrs. Premise: Busy! I've just spent four hours burying the
cat.

Mrs. Conclusion: Four hours to bury a cat?

Mrs. Premise: Yes! It wouldn't keep still, wriggling about
howling its head off.

Mrs. Conclusion: Oh - it wasn't dead then?

Mrs. Premise: Well, no, no, but it's not at all a well cat
so as we were going away for a fortnight's holiday, I thought I'd
better bury it just to be on the safe side.

Mrs. Conclusion: Quite fight. You don't want to come hack
from Sortonto to a dead cat. It'd be so anticlimactic. Yes, kill it
now, that's what I say.

Mrs. Premise: Yes.

Mrs. Conclusion: We're going to have our budgie put down.

Mrs. Premise: Really? Is it very old?

Mrs. Conclusion: No. We just don't like it. We're going to
take it to the vet tomorrow.

Mrs. Premise: Tell me, how do they put budgies down then?

Mrs. Conclusion: Well it's funny you should ask that, but
I've just been reading a great big book about how to put your budgie
down, and apparently you can either hit them with the book, or, you
can shoot them just there, just above the beak.

Mrs. Premise: Just there!

Mrs. Conclusion: Yes.

Mrs. Premise: Well well well. 'Course, Mrs. Essence
flushed hers down the 1oo.

Mrs. Conclusion: Ooh! No! You shouldn't do that - no
that's dangerous. Yes, they breed in the sewers, and eventually you
get evil-smelling flocks of huge soiled budgies flying out of
people's lavatories infringing their personal freedom. (life-size
at-out of woman at end of last animation goes by) Good morning
Mrs. Cut-out.

Mrs. Premise: It's a funny thing freedom. I mean how can
any of us be really free when we still have personal possessions.

Mrs. Conclusion: You can't. You can't ' I mean, how can I
go off and join Frelimo when I've got nine more installments to pay
on the fridge.

Mrs. Premise: No, you can't. You can't. Well this is the
whole crux of Jean-Paul Sartre's 'Roads to Freedom'.

Mrs. Conclusion: No, it bloody isn't. The nub of that is,
his characters stand for all of us in their desire to avoid action.
Mind you, the man at the off-license says it's an everyday story of
French country folk.

Mrs. Premise: What does he know?

Mrs. Conclusion: Nothing.

Mrs. Premise: Sixty new pence for a bottle of Maltese
Claret. Well I personally think Jean-Paul's masterwork is an
allegory of man's search for commitment.

Mrs. Conclusion: No it isn't.

Mrs. Premise: Yes it is.

Mrs. Conclusion: Isn't.

Mrs. Premise: 'Tis.

Mrs. Conclusion: No it isn't.

Mrs. Premise: All right. We can soon settle this. We'll
ask him.

Mrs. Conclusion: Do you know him?

Mrs. Premise: Yes, we met on holiday last year.

Mrs. Conclusion: In Ibeezer?

Mrs. Premise: Yes. He was staying there with his wife and
Mr. and Mr. Genet. Oh, I did get on well with Madam S. We were like
that.

Mrs. Conclusion: What was Jean-Paul like?

Mrs. Premise: Well, you know, a bit moody. Yes, he didn't
join in the fun much. Just sat there thinking. Still, Mr. Rotter
caught him a few times with the whoopee cushion. (she
demonstrates) Le Capitalisme et La Bourgeoisie ils sont la mimes
chose... Oooh we did laugh.

Mrs. Conclusion: Well, we'll give a tinkle then.

Mrs. Premise: Yes, all right. She said they were in the
book. (shouts) Where's the Paris telephone directory?

(Cut to shot of a notice board on the seashore, it reads
'North Malden Welcomes Careful Coastal Craft'.)

Mrs. Conclusion: That's not Paris. Jean-Paul wouldn't live
here. It's a right old dump.

('Alan Whicker', complete with microphone, walks in front of
sign.)

Whicker: But this is where they were wrong. For this was
no old dump, but a town with a future, an urban Eldorado where the
businessmen of today can enjoy the facilities of tomorrow in the
comfort of yesterday. Provided by a go-getting, go-ahead council who
know just how loud money can talk. (a phone off-screen stuns to
ring) Interest rates are so low...

(Cut to head of drama's office; he is on the phone.)

Head of Drama: Well ifs none of my business but we had the
same trouble with one of our Icelandic sagas. These people are
terribly keen but they do rather tend to take over. I think I'd
stick to Caribbean Islands if I were you. (rings off) Fine...
and now back to the saga.

CAPTION: 'NJORL'S SAGA - PART IV'

( Thundering music. Cut to an Icelandic seashore. Dark and
impressive. After a pause the pepperpots walk into shot.)

Mrs. Premise: Here - this is not Paris, this is Iceland.

Mrs. Conclusion: Oh, well, Paris must be over there then.
(points out to the sea; they walk back to the raft)

(Stock shot of Eiffel Tower. French accordion music. Mix
through to French street thronged by cod Frenchmen with berets and
loaves. Mrs. Conclusion and Mrs. Premise appear and walk up to the
front door of an apartment block. On the front door is a list of the
inhabitants of the block. They read it out loud.)

(Interior the Sartres flat. It is littered with books and
papers. We hear Jean-Paul coughing. Mrs. Sartre goes to the door.
She is a ratbag with a fag in her mouth and a duster over her head.
A French song is heard on the radio. She switches it off.)

Mrs. Sartre: (MICHAEL) Oh, rubbish. (opens the door)
Bonjour.

Mrs. Conclusion:(entering) Parlez vous Anglais?

Mrs. Sartre: Oh yes. Good day. (Mrs. Premise comes in)
Hello, love!

Mrs. Premise: Hello! Oh this is Mrs. Conclusion from No.
46.

Mrs. Sartre: Nice to meet you, dear.

Mrs. Conclusion: Hello.

Mrs. Premise: How's the old man, then?

Mrs. Sartre: Oh, don't ask. He's in one of his bleeding
moods. 'The bourgeoisie this is the bourgeoisie that' - he's like a
little child sometimes. I was only telling the Rainiers the other
day - course he's always rude to them, only classy friends we've got
- I was saying solidarity with the masses I said... pie in the sky!
Oooh! You're not a Marxist are you Mrs. Conclusion?

Mrs. Conclusion: No, I'm a Revisionist.

Mrs. Sartre: Oh good. I mean, look at this place! I'm at
my wits' end. Revolutionary leaflets everywhere. One of these days
I'll revolutionary leaflets him. If it wasn't for the goat you
couldn't get in here for propaganda.

(Shot of a goat eating leaflets in comer of room.)

Mrs. Premise: Oh very well. Can we pop in and have a word
with him?

Mrs. Sartre: Yes come along.

Mrs. Premise: Thank you.

Mrs. Sartre: But be careful. He's had a few. Mind you he's
as good as gold in the morning, I've got to hand it to him, but come
lunchtime it's a bottle of vin ordinalre - six glasses and he's
ready to agitate.

(Mrs. Premise and Mrs. Conclusion knock on the door of
Jean-Paul's room.)